Snippets of Traditions
by For.Love.Of.The.Pure
Summary: The pureblood culture of the Harry Potter world was not developed enough in the books. These are some snippets and plot ideas about the culture of love, life and magic in the Pureblood world. Also, possible explorations of other Houses.
1. What's with the Hair?

Inspired by some of Ell Roche's late work. Not cannon. But interesting. In the same timeline/universe as "Of Dreams of Families"

What's in a Hair Style

Over the summer, the witches altered their hairstyle.

It wasn't until a transfiguration class in the third week of term that Harry realized anything had changed.

"Professor McGonagall?"

Pansy Parkinson's hand was almost never raised in any of the theoretical classes, unless she was asking to be excused to take twenty minutes to go to the bathroom.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson." Clearly, their professor was just as surprised.

Pansy, instinctively sensing that all eyes in the room were on her, leaned forward so certain, recently developed parts of her anatomy were pressed against the desk. Next to him, Ron leaned forward with greater interest.

"Professor." Pansy raised a hand to trace along her neck. Harry was sure his weren't the only eyes to follow the path of those fingers to her hair line. "This spell is hard. Do you think that I could go to another room to practice? You see, I want to let my hair down."

These strange words were said directly and deliberately to Malfoy who just rolled his eyes and returned back to his scroll. Next to him, Ron stiffened. Further behind him, Lavender and Pavarti made a mix of scandalized gasps and choaking sounds.

Looking like she had swallowed a lemon more than usual, Professor McGonagall acquiesced.

"You may retire to the adjacent room if you require, Ms. Parkinson. Though I would suggest not making a practice of such retreats. This exercise is preliminary at best."

Pansy apparently decided not to hear her. With a swish of her robes, newly tailored Harry suddenly realized, she rose, collected her school books and sashayed into the extra study space.

"Hey, Hermione?"

His friend glanced up from the thick book she had brought to the dinner table. Hermione's reading habits had become outrageous lately. Breakfast was spent pouring over the newspaper with a red pen, occasionally circling articles with a triumphant expression. Lunch was spent reviewing the notes she had taken weeks ago for this afternoons classes and quizzing Harry and Ron on parts of lectures they had day dreamed through. Dinner was her "extra-curricular" research.

She was awe inspiring. Or terrifying. Harry couldn't decide.

"Yes, Harry?" She pushed her hair behind her shoulders. It was still as bushy as it had been as a first year, though Harry had learned to refer to it as Voluminous in conversation. Apparently, witches liked volume.

"Why are all the girls-" He gestured to where Lavender and Pavarti were deep in discussion of some article in Witch Weekly, "Why do they have their hair up?"

"What?" Hermione blinked at him.

"You know. All the girls, they have their hair up. Fancy like."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Not all the girls do. I don't." But Hermione was glancing around the Great Hall and coming to the same realization. A frown darkened her brow as she glanced over at the Slytherin table where every girl in their year had their hair done up in elaborate coiffed. Even Pansy Parkinson had done away with her short bob and was sporting a rather nice braided knot at the base of her neck.

"And," Hermione continued after a second, "Ginny doesn't." So it's not a pure blood thing, was the unsaid context.

"Ginny doesn't what?" Ron sat down heavily next to Harry and glanced suspiciously at his younger sister. Ever since Ginny had become a fourth year, Ron had become increasingly cagy and protective of his baby sister's "virtue." It had made for some awkward moments when Harry allowed himself to be too distracted by a flash of red hair in the hallway or on the Quidditch Pitch.

"Have her hair in an updo." Hermione answered.

"Oh, well yeah. She's not a fifth year yet, is she?" Ron pulled the plate of roast beef towards him and stabbed several slices onto his plate. "She'll put it up next summer."

"What will I do?" Ginny turned from her conversation with Colin. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at someone putting a limit on any of her freedoms.

"Put your hair up." Ron gestured down the table with his fork. "Like Lavender."

Lavender, ears ever sharp for a mention of her name, glanced up with a slight blush.

"No, I won't." Ginny swung her thick strands of crimson hair behind her shoulder and raised her chin defiantly.

"Like hell you won't, Ginvera. It's a bloody tradition."

"For the Pureblood Patriarchy." Fire flashed in Ginny's eyes and Harry felt his cheeks light up in response. Especially when she leveled her gaze on him. "It's not the middle ages. I can do what I like."

"Of course you can." Hermione hastened to add, before Ron could say another word. "You're an emancipated woman. You don't need to follow backwards pureblood rituals."

"It's not a backwards Pureblood ritual-" Both Ron and Lavender broke out at the same time and then caught sight of each other and Lavender turned away with a deep blush.

"Merlin, Hermione. Not everything pureblood is tainted by the Malfoy git. There's some good things. Like Ginny and I are purebloods." Ron stabbed his steak savagely.

"I forgot." Hermione admitted.

"I know." Ron glared down at the steak and then shoved his plate away, standing up angrily.

"Ron-" Hermione half rose but he shook his head.

"Whatever. I'm not hungry anyways." He stalked out of the Great Hall. Lavender watched him go and then turned an angry and, surprising to Harry, tear filled glare on Hermione.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you talk."

Hermione looked taken aback by the sharp comment. "What-"

"Any witch worth her salt and sage knows that there is magic in unbound hair. Keeping it up after her fourth year, when her magic is gaining it's potency, is a promise. That she will keep her magic pure and contained until marriage. Then on her wedding night, her husband can undo her hair and know that no one else has seen or touched it before him."

Hermione looked as shocked as Harry felt at the revelation, but Lavender wasn't done.

"And it's not just a pureblood tradition. I'm a halfblood. So get off your high horse, Hermione. There are some things the wizards have thought of first. And maybe think about what it means that your hair is still down."

With that parting shot, she collected her own bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. Pavarti mouthed a quick sorry to Hermione and then hurried after her. Harry turned back to the table to see Ginny watching him with a stormy and unreadable expression. He dropped his eyes hurriedly to his plate.

"But that's what I'm talking about." Hermione's whisper was barely audible and slightly shaking.

"What?"

"That tradition. There's no proof that there's magic in hair. What does that even mean? And keeping it pure for their husbands? That's the same patriarchal nonsense as- as-" Hermione snapped her mouth shut and shot up. There was a light in her eye that Harry recognized. So he didn't ask where she was going when she strode out. The library was the only answer.

Looking around the now deserted table and uncomfortable under the same, unreadable gaze of Ginny, Harry vowed never to question witches' hairstyles ever again.


	2. Founding Tradtions

A/N: Snippet of a story idea from the days of the Founders. How were pureblood lines established? What happened to squibs born to pureblood families? My take on these two questions

It was a good match. Exemplary in foresight and execution.

"Dear heart, why do you look so down?"

It was a testament to her mother's foresight and her father's love.

"You look gorgeous, my darling. Absolutely gorgeous."

It was, as she had been so often told, necessary. The only way left to her, a child born without magic into a magical family, to contribute to her family's well being. And her mother had been extraordinarily kind.

"And it's your wedding day! Chin up, love."

Ambrosia Perry glanced up from her hands and glared at the kindly mirror. An heirloom of the Perry household, but it spoke only what the hearer wanted and Ambrosia hated it. The pale face staring back at her looked too young for marriage though she knew from her studies of Mundane's courting habits, she was considered old at 18 to be engaged. Well past the more frail Mundane's child bearing years.

When she moved to her husband's estates, that would be the sole measure of her worth. Could she produce and heir? Her skill at magical languages, at taming the unicorns of their forest, of beating her twin and best friend on the broom- all those would be nothing to the Mundane's.

"Darling, how goes your preparations?"

Deidre Perry appeared in the doorway and the enchanted brush floated back to the table. Crossing behind her, Ambrosia's mother picked up the brush and resumed the combing of her daughter's long, dark hair.

"You'll come back every month at the full moon." Her mother murmured. Still young at 90, only a few streaks of grey were beginning to show in the woman's raven hair. Her eyes were as clear and steady as they had been, according to her father, when they swept through the Great Hall of Hogwarts that first day and pierced her father's heart.

"I know." It pained her, that Ambrosia's voice broke on the syllables. She took a steadying breath and met her mother's eyes in the mirror. "I know. I don't want you to think I am ungrateful, mother."

"I don't."

Always direct, her mother's blunt sincerity sometimes made other wizards forget that she had been sorted into the House of the Snake for good reason.

"It's a good match."

Her mother began braiding her hair, forgoing magic. As the years ran closer to Ambrosia's marriage, Dierdre had insisted that she learn to thrive without even the accoutrements of magic. It was a skill that she insisted all her children learn as well.

"He is young, learned. Recently heir to the largest grounds bordering ours. Of good family." Ambrosia counted off the benefits of her future husband on her fingers as she had every night for the past month. Only this time her hands were fisted tightly in the white gown. "Our son will inherit the land and when his letter arrives from Hogwarts, he will attend. Develop his skills."

"And?" Her mother prompted when she faltered.

"And another magical family will be forged in Magical Britain. The Flints. And I shall be their founder."

"As it is done." Braids complete, her mother bent down to kiss the top of her head and rested her arms around her shoulders. "You are beautiful, my little goddess. You may not believe it now, but you will when you see the truth reflected in his eyes. Now stand up. It is time to go."

After her mother swept out of the room, Ambrosia stood. Gone was the free flowing hair to be replaced by a tight cornet of braids. Gone were the comfortable robes of black and green- her family colors. Instead, the white dress washed out her face and made her look like a ghost. She was a ghost. Her childhood was dead as of this afternoon.

They apperated to the bordering woods that separated their land with the Flints. Ambrosia bit down the queasy feeling that always accompanied her side along apperation. This was one magical skill she did not loath lacking. At the edge of the wood, horses were waiting for them. Regular, mundane horses housed in their mundane manor on this edge of the woods. Given the breath of their holdings, it was occasionally necessary for her father to meet with neighboring Mundanes and it would not do to bring them into the highly enchanted lands of their castle.

Her father let her go slowly- his eyes watering once more. She took his hand and let him lead her to the white horse at the front. The creature bent its head and snuffed her shoulder. Animals had always liked her.

It was a sunny day, as if Nature had blessed this day of union. When they emerged from the shaded, coolness of the forest, Ambrosia had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Before her, a motley collection of men, women and horses stood.

These were her people, Ambrosia realized with a start, her new family. The marriage hadn't seemed real until she glanced over the men's faces wondering which one was to be hers for the next thirty or so years.

Her father's horse passed her and as her father dismounted, a man stepped forward. His eyes were sharp and his brows were very black and full. It was not a kind face and Ambrosia's heart sunk in her chest.

"Lord Perry." The fierce man bowed low, "May I present Lord Flint."

A younger man stepped unsteadily forward, his eyes fixed on her. He was not a handsome man. His jaw was harsh. His brows heavy. Muscled like a smith- so unlike the slim figures she had grown up with. Bodies and minds suited to the intricacies of magic. Worse was his eyes were glazed and distance as he stared at her.  
>A sudden, fearsome thought flashed through her mind.<p>

"Mother, he's not-"

"Imperiused? Under a love potion?" Her mother's thin lips twisted into a smile. "No, darling. I needed none of my arts to arouse his interest in you."

Dismounting shakily, Ambrosia allowed her mother to escort her close to her father. She felt transfixed by Lord Burke's eyes. Never before had she warranted this amount of scrutiny. What was she but the forgotten child of the Perry's? Neither heir nor good match. Some small part of herself thrilled at the attention.

Wrap him around her finger, her mother had told her. Maybe this instruction would be more pleasure than chore. One could only hope.

She found him next to the forest. In a small, walled garden, two trees were newly planted in the ground. Her husband stood before them, head bowed, eyes empty. Ambrosia didn't need to ask to know who lay beneath those graves. Argus had lost both his older brothers' mere months apart. One had died in a fire. The other was killed in battle. The youngest, who had never expect to inherit anything but a corner of land to farm- had found himself Lord of a large landholding and alone in the world.

He didn't stir as she crossed over to him and threaded a hand through his arm. She leaned her head against his shoulder- heart beating at the forwardness.

"Were you close?"

Her husband hesitated.

"They were good men." He finally said, "Very good men."

"That's not what I asked."

The shoulder bobbed under her head as he shrugged.

"Mother! You killed them!"

Dierdre looked up from where she was directing Foly, their house elf, to transplant the rosebushes. Her eyebrows rose as Ambrosia stalked towards her. It was her third month back on her family's lands and the air, saturated with magic, made her feel queasy.

"Of course I did, darling."

With a wave of her hand, Dierdre dismissed the house elf and took a seat on the delicately carved bench. So different from the stone slab which sat in her own little garden. When her mother patted the bench beside her, Ambrosia sat warily.

"You didn't even ask-"

"Who I had killed?" Was it her imagination or was her mother amused? "No. I was expecting the question, I confess. Also, who but your departed brother in laws would raise you to such a fury on your husband's behalf. Have you fallen in love so quickly?"

Ambrosia narrowed her eyes at the question. A sharp retort at the tip of her tongue, until it disappeared under the realization.

"You are deflecting the question, mother."

"Is it possible to deflect a question that was never asked?"

Ambrosia glared and her mother did laugh. Light and silvery, it ran ragged against the dark nature of the conversation.

"You want to know why, my little elixir."

"Because they were Mundanes?" The harsh fear which had been lurking in her heart was spat out. Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Do you really think that, darling?"

Ambrosia said nothing. Her mother took her hand in hers and held it tightly.

"Darling, I want you to listen to me. I killed both of the Flint brothers for you"

"What." Ambrosia was too cold to react beyond a whisper.

"It's true, love. Neither of Argus's brothers would have made good husbands for you. The eldest's thoughts were centered entirely on warring with neighboring bands of Mundanes- and he was already in love with his young wife. The middle child was too in love with his books and had no love with the Old Religion. You see, darling, I watched them very carefully. Neither would have made suitable husbands for you."

Ambrosia felt ill to her stomach. Argus hadn't mentioned his brother's wife, but now the family tree swam before her eyes. There had been a wife.

And a child.

She covered her face in her hands while her mother stroked her back softly.

"And… why so close? You can't imagine what pain it has caused Argus. He loved them. Dearly. It would be like if you killed Damian and Gaven."

Her mother sighed softly.

"I forget how young and how sheltered you are. If you had only gone to Hogwarts, you could have been sorted into your fathers house and never had to deal with these issues." Her mother bent to kneel in the dirt. Taking Ambrosias hands in her own, she forced her daughter to look up at her.

"Answer me, Ambrosia. It has been three months. Has your husband taken you into his confidence? Has he come to rely on you?"

Thinking back to the look of Argus's eyes in the garden, Ambrosia was forced to nod.

"He has come to depend on me." She admitted.

"Of course he has, my clever girl." Deirdre smiled at her. "You are the pillar of support in his life. The only one he has left. Do you think he would cling to you so tightly if he were not desperate? Do you think he would allow you such autonomy over his soul if he was not so utterly alone? You are the balm to his pain. Eventually the pain will pass, but his dependence never will. When you bear Argus's son, when you nurture his magical talents, when you eventually send him off to Hogwarts- your husband will have no voice left to disagree."

Yes, Ambrosia thought silently as her mother rose and cleaned her robe with a gesture, but is that dependence worth four lives?


End file.
